


Short Eyes

by Russ (Quasar)



Series: Time Heals [9]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little joke turns into a serious talk between Jim and Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 1998. Takes place after the episode "Sleeping Beauty." Contains reference to the molestation of children.

Blair shook his head, leaning back against the couch cushions. "Man, Stacy sure had some crush on you!"

Perched on the other couch, Jim tipped his beer bottle back. "She's just a kid, Chief."

"Yeah, but . . . you know, that kind of scenario features a lot in some people's fantasies. The total innocent -- the physically mature child --"

"Shut up."

Blair's head turned at his partner's harsh tone. "Hey, I was just talking, man --"

"Well, don't. Don't even think about it. It's not funny and it's not a turn-on."

"Whoa. Did I hit a sore spot?"

Jim took another guzzle of beer.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt Stacy."

"Just leave it," the Sentinel growled.

"Jim, this sounds almost . . . personal for you, man."

"You've had too much beer, Sandburg, you're saying stupid things."

Silence grew, stretched and breathed.

"Y'know, when I was little, Naomi and I used to move around a lot."

"I thought you always moved around," Jim returned, his voice still deeper than normal but losing some of its tension with the change in subject.

"Yeah, but not so much once I started going to school. Anyway, we were always living with some boyfriend of Naomi's. Some of them were really great guys. But some weren't." Blair took a tiny sip of beer, glancing at Jim under the cover of his hair. "Once when I was four and Naomi was out, her boyfriend took me into his bedroom." Blair took a deep breath. "He took off his clothes and he asked me to, to . . . you know, suck it. I said I didn't want to. He told me it tasted like chocolate. And so I licked it a little. It didn't taste like chocolate and I didn't like it, and I wouldn't do it again when he told me to. I ran away and hid from him until Naomi came home." Blair was silent for a minute. "Jim, if this makes you uncomfortable, I don't have to talk about it."

"What did you do?" Jim murmured, not meeting Blair's eyes.

"I told Mom. She confronted him, and he said I was lying."

"Did she believe him?"

"Nah. She said there was no way I could have made that up, because I didn't even have the words for it. We left that same day. Afterwards, Naomi wrote letters to all his friends telling them what kind of pervert he was. We mailed them together."

Jim stared at the carpet.

"It happened again later, when I was -- I don't know, maybe eight. This guy wanted to touch me. I yelled and hit him, and he hit me back. Mom came in and whacked him with a baseball bat. For a year after that she only dated women."

Jim's eyes flew up for a moment in startlement, then returned to their study of the carpet.

Blair waited a little longer before continuing. "I didn't really know it at the time, but I guess I was really lucky that Mom was so supportive. She gave me a much better grounding in, um, sexual matters and -- and body rights than most kids got in those days. Or these days, for that matter. I remember her telling me . . . geeze, it must have been just a few months before the first incident -- less than a year definitely, but that's a long time at that age. Anyway, when I graduated out of diapers she told me that meant only _I_ got to decide who would touch me there. That I could always say no to anyone, even to her." Blair chuckled. "Just a few days later I was at the doctor's. I forget why, some rash or something. And I got upset and said I didn't want him to touch me. I quoted Mom's lecture back at her. The doctor was going on about how it was all for my own good and stuff. Naomi just looked at me for a few seconds, then told me to put on my clothes. And that was that, no matter what the doctor said."

Jim remained motionless, wordless.

Blair cleared his throat. "But I know a lot of kids have it tougher in a situation like that. If the kid tells a grownup -- especially a parent -- they tend to deny that it happened, because they don't want to believe it's even possible. Sometimes they even try to blame the kid somehow. All because they feel guilty for not being there, providing protection."

Jim studied his fingers, locked around the empty beer bottle.

"Did they think you were lying?" Blair asked softly.

After nearly a full minute, Jim shook his head. "I wasn't the only one."

Blair waited. "Did they blame you for it?" he asked at last.

"No. Yes. I don't -- it's hard to remember."

"Tell me what you can."

"It was one of the teachers in my elementary school -- a music teacher. Somehow they . . . they found out about him. I never said anything. But then this woman came around -- I don't know, maybe a child psychologist or something. She talked to each kid, asked us if he had ever . . . touched us, or made us touch him. She said it was nothing to be ashamed of, that we hadn't done anything wrong. So I told her."

Another long silence. "What happened then?"

"Oh, he lost his job, went to court. I guess it was a big deal in the news or something."

"What happened to _you_ , Jim?"

"The woman told my father. He was furious."

"With you?"

"He said I shouldn't have said anything to her. No, that's not right. He said . . . he wanted to know why I didn't tell him first. Why I didn't tell him _instead_. Why did I keep it covered up."

"You weren't covering anything up. You just didn't know what to do or say."

"I couldn't -- I couldn't make him understand that. He was mad that it was in the papers. Mad that the public found out at the same time he did. I felt so stupid for . . . everything, for talking, for not talking, for doing what that guy told me to . . ."

"It's normal for parents to be upset that they didn't know. They feel guilty and angry, and they try to find someone, anyone to blame. Sometimes angry grownups can be scary, even if they're not angry at you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Sandburg." Jim threw a glare across the coffee table. "It shouldn't bug me so much."

"Jim. It wasn't your fault."

He sobbed, suddenly and unexpectedly.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was the music teacher who was wrong."

Jim's hands tightened on the beer bottle and his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control.

"Your father was wrong, Jim. He was upset and he said the wrong things. You kept quiet at first because you didn't know what else to do. When you had the chance, you told the truth. There's nothing wrong with that. That man is gone now, Jim, he's not going to hurt any more kids. And you helped do that."

Jim surged to his feet, crossing the room in three strides and throwing the beer bottle into the recycle bin with a crash. He went into the kitchen and splashed water on his face, then leaned over the sink, breathing heavily.

"Hey." Blair touched his friend's shoulder. "You okay, man?"

"Fine," Jim gasped.

"I didn't mean to bring anything up. I mean, you know, saying what I did about Stacy."

"I know. It's just --" Jim rubbed at his eyes. "It scares me sometimes. Most child molesters . . ."

"Were molested as kids. But most kids who had bad experiences _don't_ grow up to be child molesters. You did right by Stacy, Jim. You did good. She's going to be fine. And so will you." Blair patted gently between Jim's shoulder blades.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"I know you will, man."

"I'm going to, um -- take a shower before bed."

"Sounds good. Just . . . take it easy, man. Hang loose, okay?"

"Yeah." Jim stumbled to the bathroom.

Blair watched his partner go, eyes filled with worry. Jim had opened up, amazingly so for him. Now he needed some space and time to himself. Slowly Blair trudged into his own room and lay back on the bed, listening for sobs from the bathroom and vowing to say nothing if he heard them.

**Author's Note:**

> It happened to me. It happened to a lot of my close friends. It's more common than people think.


End file.
